Page 91 of Shade
In the dim light, I notice people lounging on a couch, others standing over a pool table, and a few near the television watching sports highlights.
“Are they having a party?” I manage to ask, keeping step with her, music thumping in my chest.
“No,” she yells over the music. “This is just an average Friday night.”
Willa leads me over to an L-shaped couch that wraps around a television spanning the length of a ten-foot wall. About four half-naked guys are relaxing and drinking, watching television.
Willa slaps the back of someone’s head with a Mohawk and dark hair.
He whips his head around, glaring, ready to snap at whoever hit him when he notices it’s Willa. It’s then I know this guy. It’s Tiller.
You remember him, right?
Just wait. He remembers me, too. His tense features relax and then his eyes glide to mine.
“I know you,” is the first thing out of his mouth after giving me a meticulous once over. “You were that stripper in the elevator.”
I fidget under his intimidating stare. Out of the three brothers, Tiller’s the only one with brown eyes, and for some reason, it makes me even more uneasy. Or maybe because Tiller is scary. “Maid.”
“Hmm.” That has his attention. He turns, facing me. One tattooed arm’s draped casually over the edge of the puffy plush couch I’d totally love to fall asleep on. “Did youbringthe uniform?”
“Jesus Christ,” Willa growls rubbing her swollen belly. “Tiller,no.” It’s as if she’s telling the dog to stop begging and you know what, it’s pretty similar when you think about it. “She just walked in the door, and both of you already hit on her.”
Tiller turns back around, facing the television. “She hasn’t met Shade yet then, has she?”
Willa begins to walk. “She has, but you know.” They share a look, a glance, an understanding I’m not privy to just yet.
“Yeah, weknow,” Tiller mumbles, reaching for a drink on the coffee table in front of him.
Willa walks and I follow. She tells me more facts about the main house. It has a bowling alley. She shows it to me. Oddly enough, a bowling ball is stuck in the plaster. “Tiller and Roan got in a fight last night.” She points to the ball. “Casualty I suppose.”
They also have a candy wall. Shit you not. Candy. Wall. Every kind of candy you can imagine in handy containers that all you have to do is open and select what you want. It’s like going to the grocery store and strolling through the bulk section.
After the candy wall, we’re heading down another hallway toward the other end of the house. Louder, angry music can be heard from outside a door when Willa places her hand on the door knob. “This is the weight room. I think Shade’s in here.”
She pushes the door open, and my ears feel hot.
Can you see me there trying to casually adjust everything from my water-bra I’m sure is leaking, or I’m sweating that much to my wild ass curls?
Willa notices. She frowns. “Stop that. You look fine. Besides, you shouldn’t be getting his attention like that.”
Right. The contract. “I’m just trying to calm my hair down. It looks like I’m a lion who brushed out their mane with one of those round brushes and a blow dryer.”
Willa snorts and motions around the room. “Come on, crazy.”
She really has no ideahowcrazy I am. Mostly for agreeing to this.
Gray walls meet a black floor and about ten treadmills along the outside wall facing the pool. Behind them are various weight machines. To the far wall, it’s mirrored with free weights in front of it.
Oh, and you can’t forget the six TVs mounted on the walls and in the treadmills. It’s like the Seahawk’s training facility in here.
“This is the gym as you can see,” Willa tells me. “The guys spend a good amount of time in here working on endurance when they’re not competing.”
Endurance? I can help with that.
I sneak a pointed look at Willa.
Or not.
